


Life is a Bowl of Peanut Sauce

by Fight_Surrender



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: An Ode to Peanut Sauce, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, Fluff, Food Issues, M/M, Novel Uses for Peanut Sauce, SnowBaz, Thai Food, Vampire Allergies, blender hate, domestic snowbaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23514133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_Surrender/pseuds/Fight_Surrender
Summary: Simon kisses my cheek before releasing me. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Baz. This is what heaven tastes like.”“It’s a good thing my road goes straight to hell then.”Simon hums, “I’ll just have to bring my peanut sauce when I follow you there.” He takes a spring roll and submerges it in sauce, swirling it around to ensure full, horrid coverage.Pure domestic fluff. Simon makes Thai peanut sauce, Baz hates everything about it.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 15
Kudos: 95





	Life is a Bowl of Peanut Sauce

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penpanoply](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpanoply/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to my dear, incredibly brave, resilient, disturbingly positive, breathtakingly talented friend and purveyor of phenomenal hugs @penpanoply. I am in awe of your strength, you are a warrior princess in fluffy sheep's hoodie. (more likely a Totoro one I suppose)
> 
> Hope this brings you a smile. 
> 
> Thank you to @artescapri for the beta read <3

“Hey babe.” Simon calls from the kitchen as I walk in the door.

The counter is a war zone of ingredients, as it tends to be when Snow cooks. I pause a moment to survey the damage. Hm. Not the usual dusting of flour and scone ingredients. This time it’s an exotic blend of lime husks, ginger knobs, garlic peels, bottle of tamari and—I do a double take—a jar of  _ peanut butter _ . “What the hell are you doing, Snow?” That came out a little sharper than intended, but I’m knackered. Work was a beating and the Thai place was running even more laboriously behind than usual. “I told you I was getting takeaway.” I drop the bag on the island with an insulted thud.

“I know,” He sing-songs, pressing the button on the blender with a flourish. “I love that place,” he shouts over the whine of the machine. Merlin, I hate that infernal device. Its repulsively loud presence is an insult to the quiet sanctity of my home. The closest I ever came to breaking up with Simon was during his smoothie phase. (I would never actually break up with Simon.) (I did consider throwing the vile machine out the window though.) Thank Circe he decided he’d rather eat his meals than drink them.

If I was an emotionally mature adult, I would share with Simon how much I hate the fucking blender. I’m not, so instead I school my features and seethe in a pit of roiling fury until it cuts off. Simon, selfishly oblivious to my turmoil, has his back to me, bopping his head to whatever insipid nineties pop song is rattling around in there. What spell can I use to blow up the blender that won’t harm him?

Snow shuts the monstrosity off, restoring peace and order to the universe. I can breathe again. Everything is right with the world. I notice Simon must have gotten his hair cut today. I resist the urge to run my hands through the freshly shorn back and sides. It’s like velvet in this state, I usually start at his neck then work my way up into the curls. Simon’s bronze locks are always deliciously silky after my stylist has her way with them.

Simon takes the lid off of the blender and smiles down at his concoction. I sidle next to him to have a look, taking the opportunity to gratuitously rub his head. “What the fuck is that, Snow?” I recoil in horror. “It looks like baby shit.”

“Now, now Baz, that’s no way to talk about my culinary masterpiece,” Snow knocks my shoulder with his. “Anyway, what do you know about baby shit?”

“I have four significantly younger siblings. I have experienced more than my share of baby shit.”

“Oh, come off it, you posh git. You had nannies and staff.” Simon counters.

“They worked part-time. Daphne believed in hands-on parenting,” I shudder, “Which apparently translates to –  _ make Baz deal with the kids while I work or engage in self-care _ .” I have nightmares of those summers. If I ever have to see another episode of Caillou or Thomas the Tank Engine, I may actually commit infanticide. “

Simon turns and slides his arms around me. “The horrors you’ve had to endure, my love,” He pulls me into an all-enveloping and vaguely condescending hug. “You are truly an inspiration to us all.”

“Fuck off,” I say halfheartedly, running my fingers through his curls for emphasis. “What is that vile sludge? It smells of peanuts and despair.”

“You’re half right,” Simon says, disentangling himself from me and dipping his finger into the carafe. The finger emerges covered in what looks like a terribly embarrassing bodily secretion and he proceeds to lasciviously lick it off.

“If you are trying to seduce me by licking that slop off of your finger, you are sorely misguided,” I say, leaning away. And that’s saying something, because normally, even Simon putting on deodorant is seductive.

“Come on, Baz, where’s your sense of adventure?” Simon grins at me and takes another swipe at the vile goop, sucking on his finger again.

“It stops at food that looks like gastrointestinal distress, Snow.”

Snow rolls his eyes and bumps my hip with his. “It’s peanut sauce, you coward. That place never gives us enough, so I thought I’d make my own.”

“Disgusting,” I reply, taking the bag of food to the table. “I never touch that stuff.”

I pop the staples on the package and start parceling out containers. “Anyway, I’m allergic to peanuts.”

“What?” Simon has poured the sauce into a soup bowl and dropped it at his spot. Sliding his chair back, “Do vampires have allergies?” His face is twisted adorably.

“Yeah, that garlic thing is a myth. It’s peanuts that can kill us.” I say absently, tossing him a box of spring rolls.

“Well, fuck this then,” Simon gets up with his bowl of muck and heads for the sink.

Shit. I scramble to grab Snow before he divests himself of his beloved sauce, “I’m just kidding, you knob. I’m not allergic to peanuts.”

“Ah-ha!” Snow smiles, managing to wrap an arm around me while holding his bowl, “I got you, you dramatic twat. Now you have to try this.”

“Absolutely not.”

Simon kisses my cheek before releasing me. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Baz. This is what heaven tastes like.”

“It’s a good thing my road goes straight to hell then.”

Simon hums, “I’ll just have to bring my peanut sauce when I follow you there.” He takes a spring roll and submerges it in sauce, swirling it around to ensure full, horrid coverage.

“Good thing I love you despite your culinary atrocities, Snow.”

Simon swallows the dripping mess in two disturbingly erotic bites. “Good thing I love you despite your shockingly mundane taste in foreign cuisine.”

He eyes me up and down, like I’m a particularly delicious snack. “Now hurry up and eat. I’ve thought up some other uses for this peanut sauce.” He narrows his eyes and gives me his best filthy grin.

“Crowley, Snow.” I nearly choke on my pad see ew.


End file.
